Survive

     A spear of ice erected from the once still pond, piercing through a salmon and hanging it in the air as if by a hook. The subsequent red streams were thin and sparse, and still it died in under a minute. Whether asphyxiation got to it first or blood loss didn’t matter. It was dead either way.

Haetia plucked the fish off the icicle and threaded it through a branch, setting it over the fire.

It was much warmer now. Not a single snowflake or cloud in sight in the last few days. A tinge of him held out hope that he was getting closer then but he had no way of knowing for sure.

“I think I’m getting better, don’t you?”

The miniature ice sculpture gleamed. Its details were a lot more refined, even down to the ever present straight face.

“I saw a rabbit earlier. I was sure I could catch it–or well, impale it–, but I don’t really know how to properly skin an animal and I don’t think my ice would make a sturdy enough knife to even make half an attempt.”

Once the salmon turned a nice shade of brown and steamed, Haetia removed it from the fire and held his hand over. Cool air emitted from his palm and before long it was fit for consumption. Not exactly at the desired temperature that Linias used to do for him, but it was close enough.

No matter how many times he’d catch a fish, he’d always eat only about a quarter before leaving the rest for the earth. His appetite would consider itself quenched and if he tried to eat more anyway then nausea would brew in his stomach. Though, it didn’t bother him too much. He ate to survive and if his body was fine with what it gave him then that was more than enough for him.

Eyelids heavy, Haetia laid across the dirt and watched as the small flame swayed in the light breeze.

“...Looking back on it, you’re scared of fire, aren’t you? I remember you flinching a few times. I just…” Didn’t care. At the time. But now he couldn’t help but wonder why, and pity him, and resent all the times he made him face those fears.

…He was almost there. Hopefully.

Haetia didn’t fight the urge to sleep as it came to him. In more recent times he’d spent too little time resting and it was starting to get to him.

The flames blurred and steadily grew darker and darker the more his eyes struggled to keep open, until finally they gave up on the endeavor and caved in.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Muffled voices circled around him. The more he came to the more he realized that they weren’t restricted to a dream. Sluggishness clung to him and he forced himself to brush it off as quickly as possible and catch sight of his surroundings.

The fire from earlier was the first thing he saw, then belongings he knew weren’t his since he didn’t have anything to his name in the first place other than the clothes on his back. Standing beside the fire were pairs of legs: three to be exact. Thieves of sorts from the looks of it. And unsuccessful ones judging by their rags and thin frames.

“I say we sell ‘em.” One said.

“Who’d want a gangly thing like that?” Said a second.

“You ain’t know what people a’ into these days.” Then the third.

Just as he thought to make a quiet retreat, the men turned to him.

“Ay look! They’re awake!”

Immediately Haetia tried to escape but barely managed a shuffle in place before two of them had grabbed his arms.

“No running for you now! You’re supposed to pay for our next dinner!”

“If someone buys ‘em. Hey, you a guy or a gal pal?”

Haetia glared daggers at the thieves, refusing to utter even a syllable.

“Ueh they’ve got some weird ass eyes. Never heard of a mythical like that!”

“Sure we can make up some story about them being rare or sum’in. Hurry up and get the rope I don’t wanna keep holdin ‘em.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

One of the men walked towards their baggage resting by the campfire, rustling through it with his back turned.

Their grasp was loose and they didn’t even bother to twist his arms back, probably thinking they could just overpower him if he tried to writhe free and they wouldn’t be wrong. That is, if he planned on doing that. He wasn’t dumb enough to try something he knew he wasn’t proficient in–maybe, no, probably Linias could just fine. But he had his own proficiencies now.

His best chance was now: while they were still distracted and one of them a safe distance away. It was fine if the third attacked him, as long as he got two out of the way.

Haetia didn’t concern himself with their ever-lingering conversation as he seized the chance before him without hesitation. Simultaneously he gripped onto the forearms of the pair and used his body weight to pull them down, using the momentum of their fall to sufficiently spear them deep onto the protruding spikes of ice.

Their subsequent wails of pain alerted the remaining thief but Haetia maintained his focus on the pair as he froze over their bodies to ensure their deaths, consequently giving the third enough time to rush over and land a clean curled fist across his cheek and sending him straight to the dirt.

“YOU BASTARD WHORE! WE SHOULD’VE KILLED YOU AND SOLD YOUR PIECES ON THE MARKET!!”

His consciousness flashed and his head spun in a daze. If it wasn’t for his adrenaline and self-preservation taking over the strike would’ve undeniably knocked him into a coma let alone the fact that the thief didn’t even give him the chance. He already crawled on top of him and wrapped his cold fingers around his neck, compressing as if he wished to snap it rather than cut off his air flow. Writhing underneath him Haetia tried to twist himself free while clawing at his skin and face before catching sight of the dagger attached to the thief’s waist. As miniscule as it was due to the thief shoving him back down, he jerked forward and it was all he needed to grasp it in that fraction of a moment then lodge it in his side.

The thief roared a mess of curses and flung the dagger out and away. Using the opening provided by his weakened state, Haetia crawled out from underneath him to try and secure the dagger until he was halted by a sharp tug of his body by his cardigan. This was the only time he was ever grateful for wearing pencil tip heels as he scraped it straight across the brute’s face in a swift but brutal kick.

However he’d only managed to be just within arm’s reach of the blade before the thief lunged on top of him again. Immediately Haetia pried his fingers into the wound on his side and he hollered his misery which fell on deaf ears as mercy eluded him altogether.

Haetia threw the thief onto his back in the midst of his agonizing turmoil and took the blade as his own. They futilely tried to raise their arms to block the attack but he didn’t aim for his throat. Instead he thrust the dagger straight into his chest, then pried it out and thrust the blade in again and again and again with each stab emitting contained spurts of blood like a broken fountain that steadily resulted in an increasingly dense pool atop his torso. The thief had long since passed after the first few mutilations, yet still he relentlessly continued until the carcass noticeably would jerk and thud in every wrest and instant gash, leaving Haetia rapidly panting by the end of it as if he’d just sprinted a mile.

He gazed at the lifeless corpse beneath him as he caught his breath, then detached the bloodied scabbard from the thief’s body and barely gave it a light flick which naturally did nothing to remove the dripping red stains. Nonetheless he attached it to his hips the best he could then sheathed the dagger.

Afterwards he hovered his palms over his heels, using his ice to fill in the gaps and thus create makeshift wedges. Once he stood up he tossed his cardigan to the ground, only keeping the sliver of fabric that he tore to use as a hair tie.

The remnants of the thief still drenched his hands but he didn’t bother to clean them in the slightest. Instead he walked on. Leaving the encampment he’d made for the night behind. He walked on, and on, and on, following the shortened trail of azaleas until his legs could carry him no longer. And so, he collapsed.